


The Widening Gyre

by lilyhandmaiden



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e09 Love in the Time of Dragons, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:10:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyhandmaiden/pseuds/lilyhandmaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vignettes set during "Love in the Time of Dragons." Merlin and Gaius confront Morgana for the actions she has not taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Widening Gyre

He lay so still and wan that he could almost have been dead already. For a moment she let herself imagine the once-great king being laid in his tomb looking just like this, a mere shadow of himself. Then his reign would be over, his hold over her life would be lifted, the people would be happy, magic would rule and she would be free…

Sighing, she let the image go. The reality was that it shouldn’t be happening like this. This was too soon. He hadn’t acknowledged her yet, and Arthur still lived. If Uther Pendragon died now, it would ruin _everything_. She didn’t have to feign her distress to Arthur. All day she had paced her chambers, furious in her helplessness, her bitter hatred of Uther clashing violently against her real concern for his life. It was the most supreme reversal of fortune. She imagined that Morgause would enjoy the irony if she wasn’t going to be so, so angry when she heard.

Morgana sat vigil at Uther’s bedside like the dutiful daughter, hanging on his every labored breath. He had not opened his eyes even once. _Come on,_ she willed him in her thoughts. _Wake up and own me on your deathbed, you coward._ Morgause had never taught her the skill of healing, but she wondered if she would use it now, were she able. She found herself glad that decision had been taken out of her hands.

As had Uther’s murder. What had Uther done to the person who saw fit to end his life like this? Was it worse than what he’d done to her? Who deserved to kill Uther more than Morgana did? She’d spent months planning around Uther’s tasters, around Merlin’s constant surveillance. But someone had beaten her to it, and she was disconcerted to find that there along with her anger was a touch of relief.

Unable to kill, unable to heal, Morgana sat and waited.

From somewhere deep inside her came a whisper of the thought, _I could have done this to him,_ accompanied by the tiniest of shudders.

***

“Did you do it?” His eyes bored into her, but she would not let herself be fazed. She glared back, and said nothing. She had no patience now to play games of impasse with Merlin. “ _Did you do this?_ ” he repeated, sharper this time. “Tell me you did it. You know there’s nothing I can do about it, I only want to know. Just tell me, please.” He was _pleading_ with her, she realized, and although she couldn’t fathom why, she knew that meant she had the upper hand.

So she answered, “No. This time, I have nothing to do with it. Poison doesn’t really top _my_ list of methods, for some reason.” She started to shut the door, but he stopped it with his foot, and that really _was_ too much. Her nerves were worn to shreds as it was, and all at once a day’s worth of pent up fear and frustration poured out into the bitter declaration, “Believe me, I want Uther Pendragon dead more than any person that foul, hypocritical tyrant has left living in Albion, but if I find out who did this to him, I will _personally_ see to it that the assassin does not see dawn tomorrow.”

 “Why?” Merlin asked, knitting his brows.

She bit her lip. For so many reasons Merlin could not know the truth of her relationship to Uther, not the least of which was that he would guess what Morgause had planned and try, fool that he was, to prevent it. “I just… wanted the satisfaction of doing him in myself.”

He accepted this with a nod of resignation and… defeat? Even though he’d knocked on her door with a question that amounted almost to an accusation, it seemed he’d been expecting her denial. _What have we come to_ , she wondered, _that he’s here begging me to tell him I’m a regicide?_

“It wasn’t Morgause either, then?”

“No,” Morgana said. “But whoever did this is a powerful sorcerer. There was some enchantment protecting our magic-hating king. Mull that over before you mourn him too deeply.” She shoved Merlin out of the door frame and slammed the door in his face.

***

It reminded him too much of events that had taken place nearly two years ago now. Someone would die as recompense for the king’s poisoning. If the choice was between saving Alice and saving Gaius, there was no contest. Just like there had been no contest, not really, when it had come down to sacrificing either Arthur or Morgana.

It was that simple. The bare, hard truth of it was painful, but he could not deny it, even when he tried. All of Camelot had been in danger, but his choice would still have been a lot more difficult had Camelot not been embodied, that day, for him, in its prince. What he’d done to Morgana was awful. It tore him apart. But losing Arthur would have been like losing himself. It would have been unbearable, unimaginable. Arthur _had_ to live, for Albion, for Camelot—and for him, for Merlin and his destiny. So he’d accepted that Morgana had to die.

It had been the _right_ choice. After all, look at what the two of them had become—Arthur, well on his way to being a great leader of men, and Morgana, a traitor and a murderous witch. And he was right about this, now, too. Alice had given herself over to dark magic, while Gaius was essential to Camelot’s wellbeing and to Merlin’s. The choice was easier this time, and he didn’t know whether it was because the pathway was clearer or because he’d found reason to trust in his own convictions. But…

“It wasn’t your choice to make.”

Merlin lay awake that night replaying Gaius’s words in his head. For the past three years, his job had been to protect, and this time he had forgotten to think about the people he was protecting. Maybe he shouldn’t have made this decision on Gaius’s behalf. Maybe Gaius had more of a right to solve this problem than he did. Maybe it had been Gaius’s turn to decide who to save, and Merlin had blundered in and decided it was _his_ , always his…

And two years ago, had poisoning Morgana been Merlin’s choice by right? But that had been different. He’d been the only one who knew how to break the spell. He alone had any grasp of what was truly going on. Of course it had had to be his decision.

Only that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Morgana had known. To some extent, Morgana had known. But she had already picked her side.

Hadn’t she? Had there been doubt in her eyes, even down to the last minute, there in the Council Chambers? He wasn’t sure anymore. What he could know, looking back, was that while she hadn’t told either of them about Morgause, she hadn’t killed the king when left alone with him and a sword. This seemed very important, suddenly. Thinking back to that day now, it seemed possible that she’d been as ready to leave the castle with them as to stay and wait for Morgause.

He could be wrong, of course. She could have had evil in her heart the whole time.

But what if she hadn’t?

For the first time Merlin considered the possibility that the choice that day had been Morgana’s, not his, and that he had not let her make it.

***

Her second unexpected visitor in as many days was Gaius. Gwen had already departed for the evening and she’d been about to go to bed.

“What is it?”

Gaius entered her chambers uninvited before he turned to her and said, “There is a sorceress in the dungeons, to be executed in the morning.”

“I know.”

“Do you intend to let it happen? This is one of _your people_. The people for whom you are doing all this, or so I assume. Has your hatred of Uther blinded you to the realities of your goals, to the people you are purportedly trying to help?”

She narrowed her eyes and clutched at the neck of her robe, feeling suddenly more exposed than she liked. “Gaius! Be careful what you say to me.”

“Child, your position in Uther’s affections is secure, and I am not a fool. I know that speaking against you to the king would be my death. So let us speak frankly, just this once, and tomorrow we can forget this ever happened.”

He must have been desperate, she realized, to come to her like this and lay all his cards on the table. He must have _cared_ about that woman. Morgause would be able to think of a way to use that to her advantage, but in that moment Morgana could not. Gaius, Uther’s loyal physician, knew about her, and he was asking her to rescue a sorceress. For the moment, he had her interest. Morgana nodded, just once. He went on.

“Alice is like you. Her crime is to have been born with magic, you know how she has been forced to live. And in her desperation she became enthralled by dark powers. I think you might know something of what that is like, as well.”

For the first time, Morgana’s iron-hard glare wavered, and she looked away. “It is not I who sentenced her, it is Uther. It’s not in my power to stay the execution.”

“But it is in your power to help her escape. You have done it before. And perhaps you have methods at your disposal now which most would not.”

“You are suggesting I commit treason, Gaius, and that is treason in itself.”

“I am reminding you that sorcerers are still dying in Camelot, and if you want a revolution, Morgana, a good place to start is by deciding it is time for the deaths to stop. Alice is a sorceress, she made mistakes, but she does not deserve to die for that. If you do nothing now… then I think you are more lost than Alice ever was.”

He left without another word. Morgana sat down on the edge of her bed, feeling sick. After a while, she got up and reached for her cloak.

What was the harm, after all? It wouldn’t interfere in the grand scheme of things, so Morgause couldn’t object, and even if she did… Morgana could certainly make some choices on her own. She felt a strength in her limbs and an energy flowing through her, a giddy sense of possibility like what the falcon must feel when its jesses suddenly snap and it is flying untethered. _No more sorcerers will die in Camelot_. The idea carried its own sort of thrill, one strong enough to drown out every thought of the risk involved and what Morgause would say.

She drew up her hood. _Sometimes you’ve got to do what you think is right_ , she repeated to herself for what must have been the hundredth time that year, _and damn the consequences._


End file.
